


Lullaby Love

by EssayOfThoughts



Category: Crimson Peak (2015)
Genre: Character Study, Codependency, F/M, Incest, Lullabies, Murder, Relationship Study, Sibling Incest, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-03 16:17:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17287349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EssayOfThoughts/pseuds/EssayOfThoughts
Summary: The lullaby was love. Love given voice, singing through the air, singing to him. Love was what the Lord gave to all his creatures (except Mother, Lucille said). Love was what Mother and Father were supposed to have for each other, what Lucille had for him, and he had for she.The lullaby meant he was loved. That she loved him, and that he was safe.





	Lullaby Love

**Author's Note:**

> Most of this was written ages ago, I just didn't post it until now. I see a lot of headcanons that kind of romanticise Lucille's treatment of Thomas and, while I do love Lucille, what she did to her brother was terrible and awful and seeing it romanticised kind of skeeves me out. 
> 
> So, here's one where its not romanticised so much, and delves into how it could become murder.
> 
>  **EDIT:** Translated into Russian by the wonderful [Eliza_Graves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eliza_Graves/pseuds/Eliza_Graves), which you can read [Here!](https://ficbook.net/readfic/8299474)

Thomas remembers the attic, and he remembers Lucille. That was his childhood, really. There were nannies sometimes, and the maid, but two things stayed constant. 

The attic. And Lucille.

 

* * *

 

Thomas remembers the lullaby. Whenever he was sad or fractious or uncertain Lucille sang it, and his worries were washed away. Thomas didn’t know how she did it, but curled into her touch stroking through his hair, and trusted she would make things better. It was not until he was older, and began reading, that he understood. 

The lullaby was love. Love given voice, singing through the air, singing to him. Love was what the Lord gave to all his creatures ( _ except Mother _ , Lucille said). Love was what Mother and Father were supposed to have for each other, what Lucille had for him, and he had for she.

The lullaby meant he was loved. That she loved him, and that he was safe.

 

* * *

 

Thomas remembers Lucille. Remembers the lullaby, remembers the touches, remembers her kisses. He’d heard that it was wrong, but never quite understood  _ how _ , so apart from everyone as they were. 

Lucille loved him. He loved her. Coupling was what people who loved each other did. Of course that was how it was; Lucille had told him.

He thought he understood, that day when Mother caught them.

 

* * *

 

He remembers Lucille, later, embracing him with hands covered with blood that she made care not to touch him with. She sang the lullaby, and Thomas knew.

Lucille loved him. Lucille had made them safe.

 

* * *

 

They were not safe. Mother was dead yes, they were safe from her. 

But they were not safe from the world. He was sent to school, far away. And Lucille…

Lucille was gone from him.

 

* * *

 

He learned, as best he was able. Everything he could. Languages, engineering, geology and geography, the duties of Allerdale, and all the legalese he could wrap his head around. 

Lucille had been taken from him. He had been taken from her.

He would do anything to get her back.

 

* * *

 

He came of age and was given Allerdale. He was given control. He demanded his sister back.

It was the only demand he had ever given, spoken to their lawyers, to their godfather. 

“I am heir,” he said. “And I want my sister back.”

 

* * *

 

Lucille was returned to him, returned to Allerdale, wrapped in a black dress and in blue, and Thomas almost did not notice her bruises. He saw, however, her scars. Her lip, her brow, one, she showed him later, over her breast.

But she was  _ back _ and Thomas wrapped her in his arms. “I’ve missed you,” he breathed into her neck, where a curl of glossy black hair, so like his own, looped down.

Lucille’s arms wrapped around him, her lips pressed to his ear. “And I you.”

 

* * *

 

Thomas remembers the child (their child). He hadn’t known quite what to feel. Not when Lucille carried him, careful to hide the fact from anyone. Not when Lucille screamed with birth pains. Not when the child (their child) was born and wailing. 

Thomas remembers Lucille, afterward. Hair plastered to her face with sweat, sheets stuck to her legs with blood, and the child (their child) cradled in her arms and suckling. There was a look on her face, attentive, caring, but she did not sing the lullaby. Thomas reached to touch the child’s (their child’s) hand, and Lucille sent him away. 

_ Get clean sheets _ , she said.  _ And something to drink, if you please, Thomas? _

Thomas loved Lucille, and so he went.

He wondered, as he fetched, what they were to do. How to explain a child. Lucille shamed? Him shamed? The child (their child) outcast? He wondered if they could claim the child (their child) foundling or orphan, if they could claim a cousin, both parents gone,  _ something _ that meant the child (their child) could stay, safe, with them.

 

* * *

 

When he returned the child (their child) was sleeping, cradled close to Lucille’s breast. There was a look on her face, attentive, caring, but she did not sing the lullaby. The child, (their child) she said, was sickly, and she did not know how long he would last. 

Thomas looked at the child (their child). He knew Lucille would not let go, even to sleep, and that she would not let him touch the child (their child). Thomas looked at the child (their child) and wondered who would play parent to him.

 

* * *

 

Enola promised aid, but none came. Enola promised the child (their child) would live but it did not. 

The child (their child) died.

And so too did she.

 

* * *

 

The child (their child) died, and Thomas did not know what to feel. Lucille was silent, gliding through Allerdale like a black swan; silent, elegant, beautiful. Thomas knew she was, on one level, sad, and on another, somehow, glad. They would not have to explain the child (their child), now laid to rest deep beneath Allerdale Hall.

Thomas knew he was the child’s (their child’s) father. He knew Lucille, the mother. He knew the child (their child) was  _ theirs _ . 

But he did not know how to feel as he watched the little coffin set into crimson clay.

 

* * *

 

That evening they sat downstairs. Lucille was playing; a new tune. It rang out from the keyboard in beautiful notes, and deep down Thomas knew he knew it.

Lucille did not seem to grieve the child (their child). She glided around the house, making it theirs again, a black swan yes, and one which had felt loss.

But not enough for a sorrowful swansong.

Thomas did not know how to feel. The child (their child) had been  _ theirs _ . Blood and bone and body, all alike. Should he not have loved him? Cared for him? Should he not grieve him?

But Lucille did not seem to.

Thomas leaned back into the sopha. Thomas listened to the music. Thomas listened to Lucille. Thomas recognised the lullaby.

Lucille loved him. Lucille said they were safe.

 

* * *

 

Lucille stabbed him and he did not  _ understand _ .

Lucille loved him (she  _ stabbed him _ ), she  _ loved him _ (she  _ stabbed him _ ), he was  _ bleeding _ (she had  _ stabbed him _ ). He blinked, stared, gaped. Lucille  _ loved _ him (she stabbed him), she  _ loved him _ (he was  _ bleeding out _ ).

And his vision went dark.

 

* * *

 

He was floating. He thought he was. He couldn’t feel anything, see anything until suddenly there was a face in front of him.

“Father?”

He blinked. He stared. There was a boy, a boy that could be his own reflection, just younger. 

“Father?”

_ The child (Their  _ **_child_ ** _ ) _ .

Thomas opened his mouth to speak, and no words came out.

“Father,” the child ( _ their child _ ) said, and smiled. “I’m Allerdale. I chose it, when I understood.”

“Allerdale,” Thomas breathed.

“Mother is going to kill Edith,” the child (their child, his  _ son _ ).  _ Edith _ . Allerdale (their child, his  _ son _ ) takes his hand. “Let me show you.”

Thomas did not want to see, but was tugged along all the same. The child, their child, his  _ son _ . Thomas did not know how to feel.

Then he saw Lucille, and the knife, and Edith, and knew he had to stop his sister. Allerdale let go of his hand.

 

* * *

 

Allerdale found him, after.

“Father?” 

Thomas looked up, and blinked.

“Edith is safe. Mother is staying at Allerdale.”

Thomas choked on tears that dissipated before they could fall. He  _ killed her _ (She killed him). He loved her (she  _ killed _ him).

Lucille had never loved him. Not as he had loved her.

 

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave comments!


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